Analytic Feminism

Analytic feminists are philosophers who believe that both philosophy
and feminism are well served by using some of the concepts, theories,
and methods of analytic philosophy modified by feminist values and
insights. By using ‘analytic feminist’ to characterize
their style of feminist philosophizing, these philosophers acknowledge
their dual feminist and analytic roots and their intention to
participate in the ongoing conversations within both traditions. In
addition, the use of ‘analytic feminist’ attempts to rebut
two frequently made presumptions: that feminist philosophy is entirely
postmodern and that analytic philosophy is irredeemably
male-biased.[1]
Thus by naming themselves analytic feminists, these philosophers
affirm the existence and political value of their work.

Readers with a strong desire to “cut to the chase” may
jump to the fourth section, on
characteristics of analytic feminism.
The first three sections explain the relationships between analytic
feminists and the various traditions they share, so are helpful in
setting the context for analytic feminism.

Contemporary analytic philosophers, feminist and nonfeminist, can be
characterized roughly as follows: they consider (some of)
Frege,
Russell,
Moore,
Wittgenstein, and the
Logical Positivists
to be their
intellectual ancestors; they tend to prize explicit argumentation and
the literal, precise, and clear use of language; they often value the
roles of philosophy of language, epistemology, and logic; and they
typically view their stock of philosophical concepts, methods, and
assumptions to be a) consistent with their Modern European heritage,
and b) in contrast with methods originating in twentieth-century
continental Europe, most recently those having names beginning with
‘post’: poststructuralism and postmodernism broadly
conceived.

Of course, each strand of mid-twentieth-century, “classic”
analytic philosophy has changed greatly. Many central dogmas have been
undermined, and nonfeminists and feminists alike have
“naturalized,” “socialized,” and otherwise
modulated the earlier, more abstract and highly normative enterprises
and doctrines. However, regardless of the extent of the evolution of
“analytic philosophy,” the degree to which methodological
boundaries are blurred today, and the fruitfulness of intersections
among methods, a number of feminist and nonfeminist philosophers
continue to think of themselves in the historical trajectory of
analytic philosophy and find the tradition valuable. They claim the
term ‘analytic philosopher’ for themselves, even if some
others might find the term ‘post-analytic’ more
appropriate.[2]

One way to encapsulate the agreement in positions and values among
feminist philosophers, regardless of their methodological
inclinations, is to say that for feminist philosophers, both
philosophy and gender matter—both are important to the
lives of human beings. Feminists recognize that philosophy and
philosophers are part of the wider set of institutions of culture in
which human beings live, understand themselves, and, only sometimes,
flourish. Among the many functions of philosophy are the following: to
help us to understand ourselves and our relations to each other, to
our communities, and to the state; to appreciate the extent to which
we are counted as knowers and moral agents; to uncover the assumptions
and methods of various bodies of knowledge, and so on. These kinds of
philosophical insights—ones that concern our methods,
assumptions, theories, and concepts—can contribute to the
oppression of human beings as well as to their liberation (see, for
example, Langton 2000 and Vogler 1995). Given the current imbalances
of power and privilege with which people live, philosophy has social
effects when it “leaves everything as it is.” When
feminist philosophers say that traditional philosophy is already
political, they are calling attention to these social effects.
Feminists seek philosophy that can generically be called
“engaged,” that is, philosophy that is potentially useful
to empower human beings rather than contribute to the perpetuation of
a status quo in which people are subordinated by gender,
race/ethnicity, class, sexual orientation, and so on. This is not to
say, of course, that feminist philosophers all agree over the
appropriate ways to work this out, but they do agree that philosophy
can influence lives and should influence them for the better.

A second area of agreement among feminist philosophers is that gender
has effects not only on our lives, but also on philosophy
itself. Feminists criticize the misogyny of philosophers and the overt
and covert sexism, androcentrism, and related forms of male bias in
philosophy. For example, philosophers have through the centuries made
a variety of false and demeaning claims about “the nature of
woman”; they have defined central concepts such as reason in
ways that excluded women of their cultures; they have made allegedly
universal claims about human nature, desire, or motivation that were,
in fact, claims more likely to be true of men of their social class;
and they have believed methods and positions to be
“value-neutral” and “objective” that were
instead promoting the interests of only the privileged groups. Once
again, while feminist philosophers agree on the existence of such
kinds of male bias, they differ over the best ways to criticize it,
the extent to which various philosophical approaches can be
reconstructed for feminist use, and so on. Some examples from analytic
philosophy will be discussed in the fifth section below, on
feminist criticism of analytic philosophy,
and in the sixth section, on
analytic feminists' responses to critiques.

The kinds of male-biased claims just mentioned have negative
consequences not only for women, but also for philosophy. Feminist
philosophers argue that on many levels—from individual concepts
such as reason or autonomy to entire fields such as philosophy of
mind—philosophy has been distorted or limited by the absence of
feminist influence. The remedy for these distortions and limitations
is not to substitute “female bias” for “male
bias,” but to understand the variety of roles that gender plays
in the construction of philosophy. Feminists believe that even as
philosophers pursue their traditional goals, the likelihood of
progress toward them is increased by heeding feminists' more
inclusive and self-reflexive approach.

It is important to be clear that feminist philosophers maintain that
gender is only one facet of a complex nexus of mutually influencing
axes of oppression and privilege that structure society and the social
identities of human beings; other facets include race/ethnicity,
social class, sexual orientation, disability, and so on. Although
gender is only one facet, it is nevertheless an important one with a
wide variety of implications for the way we should do philosophy. As
feminists continue to critique other philosophers as well as
reconstruct philosophy that is not male-biased, most share some
points in common. Let's briefly note a few of the points of agreement
before moving on to the disagreements that are discussed in the fifth
section below, on
feminist criticism of analytic philosophy,
and in the sixth section, on
analytic feminists' responses to critiques.

Since many traditional philosophers believe that their own
theories or methods have universal applicability, feminist
philosophers find it appropriate to hold these philosophers' feet to
the fire. Feminists explain that part of what it means for a moral
theory or an epistemology to be universal is that it must be usable by
a full range of human beings, not just by members of a dominant social
group. For example, a moral theory should allow for moral agency for
any person regardless of his or her social status. An epistemological
theory should be able to analyze a full range of cognitive situations
of a wide variety of human beings. A good philosophical theory or
method would systematically disadvantage neither men nor women from
any social group; it would not treat irrelevant social factors as
meaningful. For example, it would disparage no one's experiences, no
one's authority as a knower, and no one's goals as a moral or
political agent. Such an approach postulates neither the
“sameness” of everyone nor the existence of “group
differences.” Instead, it asks that philosophers attend to the
full range of human beings, including their wide variety of
experiences, interests and situations, when purporting to construct
“universally applicable” theories.

It is dangerous to stop paying attention to gender too soon. Even
if a feminist philosopher has a long-term goal of minimizing the
importance of gender, there is a risk of leaving too much unanalyzed
if one leaps immediately from male-biased philosophy to gender-neutral
philosophy. Attention to the influence of gender implies a recognition
that philosophy is embedded in social structures and practices, so
feminist philosophers tend to use “naturalized” or
“socialized” methods to explain the “located”
or “situated” character of the subject who does philosophy
as well as the objects of philosophical reflection. Of course, the
details here vary widely among feminists.

Philosophy must be normative at the same time it includes a
naturalized or socialized component. Feminist philosophers, like many
nonfeminist philosophers, struggle to maintain the level of
normativity that they require in order to serve their philosophical
and political goals. Again, details will vary concerning what level or
kind of normativity is necessary.

Although we return later to controversial aspects of these points,
feminist consensus is that although philosophy is a discipline that
purports to be about and for all humanity, it has not been.
Philosophers have not appreciated the extent to which their theories
and methods have underwritten and perpetuated cultures that have
prevented the flourishing of at least half of their populations.
Philosophy that reflects a feminist sensibility would take account of
the relevance of philosophy to the lives of human beings and promote
the flourishing of every person. At the same time it would help
philosophy to more nearly approximate its own ideals.

Although an essay on analytic feminism focuses our attention on
differences among philosophical methods that feminists favor, these
distinctions were not salient in the early days of contemporary
feminist philosophy. Even during the 1980s and 1990s when
methodological differences came under more scrutiny, the question of
whether a feminist philosopher finds more valuable resources in
analytic philosophy or in pragmatism, poststructuralism,
existentialism, Marxism, critical theory, or hermeneutics was of
more concern to certain academic feminist philosophers than it was
to the wider feminist scholarly or political communities. In fact,
academic feminist philosophers in many parts of the world report
taking less note of feminists' methodological distinctions than do
feminist philosophers in North
America.[3]
Today, although many feminist philosophers' mainstream philosophical
education still often focuses on one philosophical method or
tradition, one can find “analytic feminists” discussing
Beauvoir, Foucault, or Butler without hesitation. It is fair to say
that because of feminist philosophers' political values and desire to
communicate with other feminists, they are more motivated to search
for methodological cross-fertilization than are many nonfeminist
philosophers. (See the entries on
intersections between pragmatist and Continental feminism
and
intersections between analytic and Continental feminism.)

The categories of feminist philosophies/theories most widely known
outside academic philosophy since the 1970s are those developed by
Alison Jaggar based on political values, goals, and assumptions.
Jaggar distinguishes liberal, radical, classical Marxist, and
socialist feminism. Each kind of feminism identifies the principal
sources of women's oppression and encompasses an epistemology and a
theory of human nature as well as political theory and strategies for
social change
(1983).[4]
It is very important to note that some women of color have objected
to the widespread and hegemonic use of these categories (see Sandoval
1991, 2000). In addition, because the categories are based in
political theories, it is not surprising that they function better in
social/political theorizing both in and outside of philosophy than for
philosophers doing metaphysics, philosophy of science, aesthetics, and
so on.

Sandra Harding developed a different widely used set of categories
of feminist philosophies in the context of philosophy of science and
epistemology (1986). Harding distinguishes feminist empiricists
(practicing natural and social scientists who tended to rely on
logical positivist theories), feminist standpoint theorists who drew
from Marxist epistemology, and feminist postmodernists. Although
Harding is distinguishing feminists by philosophical methodology, it
is important to be clear that her category of “feminist
empiricist” captures a trend among pathbreaking women scientists
who aimed to hold scientific practice to alleged standards of
scientific objectivity and neutrality; however, the assumptions behind
this trend are not what philosophers today have in mind when speaking
of empiricism. Thus Harding's feminist empiricist scientists differ in
many important ways from the analytic feminist
philosophers who tend to be post-Wittgensteinian-Quinean-Davidsonian
empiricists. See, for example, Longino (1990, 2002), Nelson (1990),
Solomon (2001), Lloyd (2008), and essays collected in Scheman and
O'Connor (2002), Nelson and Nelson (2003), Clough (2003), Superson and
Brennan (2005), Grasswick (2011), and Crasnow and Superson (2012).

As we will see in more detail below, analytic feminists are among
those who argue that they are not captured by either Jaggar's or
Harding's widely acknowledged sets of categories. The analytic
feminists who distinguish their method from their political values and
assumptions would reject, for example, a necessary connection between
being either an analytic philosopher or an empiricist and being a
liberal.[5]
Additionally,
those who claim the label ‘empiricist’ would point out
that
contemporary philosophical feminist empiricism is not subject to all
the objections that Harding raises against feminist empiricist
scientists.

Although there had been feminist philosophers using analytic methods
since the late 1960s, as feminist philosophy developed in the areas of
epistemology, philosophy of science, and metaphysics there were
clusters of controversies over the compatibility of feminist politics
with a preference for analytic philosophical methods. Panels at
American Philosophical Association meetings and discussions at the
Society for Women in Philosophy generated essays that explored these
matters. See, for example, issues of The APA Newsletter on
Feminism and Philosophy (Tuana 1992, Meyers and Antony 1993).

The term ‘analytic feminist’ came into use
in the early 1990s in North America. Virginia Klenk proposed a Society
for Analytical Feminism in 1991 and was its first president; Ann Cudd
characterized analytic feminism on the organization's website (see
Cudd 1996) and in a special issue of Hypatia on
Analytic Feminism (Cudd and Klenk 1995). Cudd notes that there is at
best a family resemblance among analytic feminists. Among the
characteristics she cites are the following:

Analytic feminism holds that the best way to counter sexism and
androcentrism is through forming a clear conception of and pursuing
truth, logical consistency, objectivity, rationality, justice, and the
good while recognizing that these notions have often been perverted by
androcentrism throughout the history of philosophy…. Analytic
feminism holds that many traditional philosophical notions are not
only normatively compelling, but also in some ways empowering and
liberating for women. While postmodern feminism rejects the
universality of truth, justice and objectivity and the univocality of
“women,” analytic feminism defends these notions (Cudd
1996, 20).

Doctrines. Although Cudd lists a few traditional concepts
that analytic feminists want to retain, she makes clear that this is
no manifesto. Many who consider themselves feminists in the analytic
tradition hold that there are no doctrines required of analytic
feminists; indeed, there is even a spirit of contrarianism about such
matters. For example, some analytic feminists might well deny Cudd's
claim above about the univocality of ‘women.’
Nevertheless, analytic feminists share something that we might call a
core desire rather than a core doctrine, namely, the desire
to retain enough of the central normative concepts of the modern
European tradition to support the kind of normativity required by both
feminist politics and philosophy. For example, they believe that
feminist politics requires that claims about oppression or denial of
rights be true or false and able to be justified and that philosophy
requires much the same thing.

This “core desire” finds its expression, for example, in
the ways analytic feminists use some of what we might call the
“core concepts” that Cudd mentions above: truth, logical
consistency, objectivity, rationality and justice. Although, as noted
in the first section, on
the tradition analytic feminists share with other analytic philosophers,
analytic feminists agree with other feminist
philosophers that important facets of these concepts are male-biased,
analytic feminists defend the concepts in ways that other
feminists do not. At the same time analytic feminists disagree among
themselves about a number of matters, for example, what kinds of
accounts of truth or objectivity should prevail or whether scientific
realism or anti-realism is a better strategy. We will spell out some
of these details later as we discuss analytic feminists' defense of
analytic philosophy in the sixth section, on
analytic feminists' responses to critiques.

Bridge building. Analytic feminists' use of these core
concepts and their references to the work of traditional analytic
philosophers allow them to converse with and build bridges among
different groups of scholars, for example, traditional analytic
philosophers, other feminist philosophers, and, in some cases,
scientists or scholars in social studies of science. This is sometimes
an explicit goal of their work, but is more often implied. Two
analytic feminists philosophers of science for whom this is an
explicit goal are Lynn Hankinson Nelson and Helen Longino. Nelson sees
her work in feminist empiricism that builds upon Quine as a way to
engage philosophers of science, scientists and feminists in
constructive conversation (Nelson 1990 and subsequent essays, e.g.,
1996). Longino, in The Fate of Knowledge (2002) takes bold
steps to dissolve the rational-social dichotomy by untangling the
assumptions made by social and cultural studies of science scholars,
historians and philosophers of science, and scientists. Interestingly,
Longino's 2002 book is not cast in “feminist”
terms, but builds on her overtly feminist work from the 1980s and
1990s and is informed by three decades of conversations of feminist
philosophy.

Analytic feminists' styles of writing also have implications for
bridge building. As noted in
the second section, on
what analytic feminists share with other feminist philosophers,
analytic feminists value
explicit argumentation and clear, literal, and precise uses of
language. So this work “looks like philosophy” to
nonfeminist analytic philosophers and makes them feel somewhat
comfortable entering a feminist conversation. At the same time,
feminist philosophers from various philosophical traditions often
engage with each other's work outside their own “preferred
method” because of feminists' shared values. Thus
non-analytic feminists who might find an analytic writing style
tediously overqualified or otherwise confining still
engage—along with nonfeminist analytic philosophers—in
fruitful bridge-building conversations. Editors of analytic feminist
anthologies and special issues of journals often have explicit
bridge-building intentions that rest both on authors' style and
content.[6]
See, for example, Antony and Witt (1993/2002), Cudd and Klenk
(1995), Haslanger (1995a), Fricker and Hornsby (2000), Superson and
Brennan (2005), and Crasnow and Superson (2012).

Style and aggression. Although arguing explicitly is not to
be equated with arguing aggressively or in an adversarial manner,
analytic feminists have addressed the issue of stylistic
aggressiveness. We must distinguish two related issues on this
subject: first, an aggressive manner of arguing in general, and
second, Janice Moulton's critique of the
“adversary method” as a paradigm in philosophy—and
specifically in analytic philosophy (1983). Moulton's point is not
simply that the socially constructed belief that aggression is an
unladylike/unfeminine characteristic puts women at a
disadvantage (indeed, in a double bind) in careers such as philosophy
that equate aggression with competence. She also focuses on the ways
in which the use of the adversary method as a paradigm of philosophy
limits and distorts the work of philosophers.

Moulton uses ‘the adversary method’ to refer to the view
of philosophy in which the philosopher's task is to develop general
claims, produce counterexamples to each other's general claims, and
use only deductive reasoning (1983, 152–153). If this is the
paradigm of philosophy rather than simply one strategy among many,
then the discipline excludes many fruitful kinds of exploration and
development, distorts the history of philosophy, and (because it
works best in well-defined areas, even isolated arguments) greatly
narrows the scope of philosophical concerns. Moulton also sees
integrated into this paradigm several ideals of which she is
critical, for example, “value-free” reasoning and
objectivity. Interestingly, she does not draw illustrations from the
obvious examples in analytic philosophy such as Edmund Gettier's
analysis of ‘S knows that p’ and the
decades of responses to it. Instead she uses an early
feminist essay, Judith Thomson's “A Defense of Abortion”
(1971), to show ways in which important facets of a substantive issue
can be set aside because of restrictions imposed by the adversary
method.

I know of no feminist who has argued in print against Moulton's
specific argument, although some have made further distinctions (for
example, Govier 1999 and Rooney 2010). Nevertheless, some
analytic feminists have pointed to the value of arguing aggressively
in general. For example, Louise Antony values the gender transgression
and feelings of empowerment and freedom that can stem from a woman's
using an aggressive analytic style of writing and argument (Antony
2003, see also Baber 1993). More recent treatments of aggressive or
adversarial styles have arisen in discussions of the persistently
low number of women in philosophy, compared with other humanistic
disciplines (see, for example, Burrow 2010, Rooney 2010,
and Beebee 2014). However, this issue is not one that finds
analytic feminists (or any others) in unanimity. It has been an
undercurrent of discussions in meetings of the Society for Women in
Philosophy over the decades. Some feminists prefer to eschew
aggressiveness at the same time that they retain clear, rational
support for their positions. Underlying the disagreement over style
is an important shared goal: to remain respectful of the other
person while disagreeing. Feminist philosophers find this to be
especially important, but peculiarly elusive, when they are
disagreeing among themselves. The parameters of respectful
disagreement have engendered interesting
debate.[7]

Reconstructing philosophy. We noted in
the second section, on
what analytic feminists share with other feminist philosophers,
that
feminist philosophers with a variety of methodological and political
backgrounds would agree that if a philosopher claims
universal applicability for a theory or method, it must be usable by
both women and men from a variety of social situations. Many analytic
feminists use a similar approach to the construction of feminist
philosophy. They tend to be wary of creating specialized
fields/types of philosophy that are relevant only to (some or all)
women or feminists, for example, feminine ethics, gynocentric ethics,
or lesbian ethics (for a variety of positions in feminine and feminist
ethics see
Feminist Ethics.
Analytic feminists tend to propose that feminist ethics or
feminist metaphysics would instead establish new criteria of
adequacy for ethics or metaphysics. The authors
in TheCambridge Companion to Feminism in
Philosophy provide excellent examples of this approach
(Fricker and Hornsby 2000). In fact, the volume's editors, Miranda
Fricker and Jennifer Hornsby, aim to include feminist philosophy in
the mainstream of the discipline (2000, 4–5). This approach
can be spelled out in terms similar to some used in Section 2: An
adequate philosophical theory, method or concept is one that
“works” for women as well as men. “Works” is
very inclusive here: it cannot be enmeshed in a philosophical system
that has oppressive consequences large or small; its theories and
concepts must reflect and be applicable to the full range of
experiences, interests, and situations of all sorts of women and men.
Note that this view requires no commitment to claims about feminist
standpoints, nor does it treat women as a uniform class of any kind.
It is obvious that experiences vary according to a number of different
axes—not only along the commonly cited axes of social class,
sexual orientation, race/ethnicity and gender—but also in terms
of individual variation as well as other general factors. This
approach leaves open many substantive questions about the long-term
interests of different individuals and groups. It also permits one
to point out the importance of having a variety of perspectives
without maintaining that there is something “essential”
about these perspectives.

As analytic feminism has become an increasingly developed field, its
practitioners have expanded the range of resources upon which they
draw as they reconstruct philosophy. For example, some analytic
feminists, alongside other feminists and philosophers of race, have
argued that traditional philosophy and feminist philosophy alike need
to reflect the complexities of “intersectional” analyses
of gender, race/ethnicity, sexuality, disability, class, and so on
(for example, Bailey 2010, Garry 2012). They draw on feminist
critical race theory, queer theory, and disability studies to enrich
their understanding of the ways in which various axes of oppression
and privilege intermesh.

Reconstructing philosophy can also require acknowledging that
privilege plays a role in the construction of epistemic ignorance and
epistemic injustice. For example, Miranda Fricker (2007) and Kristie
Dotson (2011) as well as authors in Tuana and Sullivan (2006) and in
Sullivan and Tuana (2007) call to our attention both the depth with
which privilege has been constructed and the ways its tentacles reach
into multiple facets of our lives.

Although all feminist philosophers agree that traditional
philosophy, including analytic philosophy, has been male-biased in
various respects, the disagreements between analytic feminists and
other feminist philosophers become more apparent as they discuss
critiques of analytic philosophy. In many ways “classic”
analytic philosophy seems almost a paradigm case of “male-biased
philosophy”—a kind of philosophy least hospitable to
feminist values. Among the features that feminists have criticized are
that it is committed to pure objectivity and value-neutrality, and
uses an unlocated, disembodied, disinterested, autonomous individual
reasoner, knower, and agent. Having stated it this boldly, let us look
briefly at several feminist arguments that have themselves become
“classic” critiques of particular facets of analytic
philosophy. Then in Section 6 we will turn to the responses of
analytic feminists to try to understand why they nevertheless find
valuable resources in the analytic tradition.

In some respects it is hard to disentangle feminist philosophers'
critiques of analytic philosophy from their broader critiques of
Western philosophy because sometimes their critique of analytic
philosophy is supported by their critiques of either its antecedents
in modern thought or its sister scientific disciplines. For example,
when Alison Jaggar criticized abstract individualism and other
concepts of modern liberal political theory her critique was also
relevant to the disinterested, detached investigator prized by the
logical positivists. Jaggar faults liberalism for (a) its normative
dualism that arises when the mental capacity for rationality is
“what is especially valuable about human beings”
(1983, 40), (b) abstract individualism—“the assumption
that the essential human characteristics are properties of individuals
and are given independently of any particular social context”
(1983, 42), and (c) its assumption that rationality is instrumental,
value-neutral, and detached. Jaggar did not claim that her critique
applied to analytic philosophy beyond positivism, but notes that
neopositivist values are held in normative theories even in the late
twentieth century. She is thinking, for example, of political or moral
theorists' characterization of objectivity as impartiality and lack of
bias (1983, 357).

Among Sandra Harding's analyses of the discourses upon which
feminists draw, the most relevant to analytic philosophy is her
account of empiricism as practiced by natural and social scientists.
Although Harding is speaking about scientists rather than
philosophers, her critique of the limitations of the empiricist
view—especially its assumed account of “value-free”
objectivity—is also applicable to philosophers who utilize this
concept of objectivity. Harding advocates that feminists retain a
notion of objectivity that incorporates appropriate values (her
“strong objectivity”) and criticizes the empiricists'
alleged “value-free” objectivity by the use of the
arguments below.

It perpetuates the values of the researchers, and is, in differing
ways, both too narrow and too broad. It is too narrow because it can
detect only values that differ between researchers and
“competent” critics, and too broad because it purports to
eliminate all social values, when it may well be that some values
benefit science while others undermine it (Harding 1991,
143–4).

It is politically and morally regressive; for example, it
constructs science in a way that permits scientists to be “fast
guns for hire” rather than individuals who attend to the moral
and political values that support and are implied by their actions.
(Harding 1991, 158–9)

It is linked to other implausible views. Examples include, first,
that only false beliefs have social causes while true beliefs have
natural ones, and, second, that the ideal agent “must create and
constantly police the borders of a gulf, a no-man's-land, between
himself as the subject and the object of his research, knowledge, or
action” in order to be “a self whose mind would perfectly
reflect the world” (1991, 158). Harding utilizes Nancy
Hartsock's term “abstract masculinity” for this last idea
(Harding 1991, 158).

Other feminist philosophers, for example, Nancy Holland, utilize the
overlapping critiques of Harding and Jaggar, particularly that of
abstract individualism, and take them to be telling of Anglo-American
philosophy in general. Holland takes Locke and Hume as well as
contemporary analytic philosophers to exemplify Anglo-American
philosophy (1990). Holland focuses on the metaphysical assumptions of
empiricism that exclude women from philosophy. She writes that
contemporary analytic philosophy, “by remaining within the
Empiricist tradition, inherits not only the problems of that
tradition, but also a self-definition that identifies it as
necessarily men's philosophy….[Men's] philosophy defines itself
throughout its history in such a way as to exclude what our culture
defines as women's experience from what is considered to be properly
philosophical” (1990, 3).

Jane Duran is both a practitioner and a critic of analytic
philosophy. Although she values the rigor of analytic philosophy and
wants to incorporate it into feminist epistemology, she sees analytic
epistemology (“pure epistemology”) as a recent incarnation
of “a masculinist, androcentric tradition that yields a
hypernormative, idealized, and stylistically aggressive mode of
thought” (1990, 8). Duran's criticism here runs along the lines
of the philosophers just discussed. She appeals not only to Harding,
but also to Evelyn Fox Keller (1985), Susan Bordo (1987), and Janice
Moulton's (1983) critique of the adversary paradigm discussed
above in Section 4. Duran's examples of traits that have been seen as
androcentric include, “analysis in terms of logically necessary
and sufficient conditions, lack of allusion to descriptively adequate
models, the importance of counterexampling, putative universalization
of the conditions, and so forth” (1990, 44).

Naomi Scheman refers to herself as an “analytic philosopher
semi-manqué”—one who has left the analytic
neighborhood of her philosophical training. She has made several kinds
of arguments that bear on the adequacy of analytic philosophy: the
impact of individualism in philosophy of mind, the nature of the self,
and the nature of the normative philosophical subject (see her papers
collected in 1993). For example, Scheman argues that it is the
ideology of liberal individualism rather than sound argument that
underlies the widespread belief that psychological objects such as
“emotions, beliefs, intentions, virtues, and vices” are
properties of individuals (1993, 37). In fact, part of Alison Jaggar's
argument against abstract individualism relies on Scheman's conceptual
point that questions of identifying and interpreting psychological
states must be answered in a social context, not in abstraction from
it. Scheman acknowledges her debt to Wittgenstein in making this
point, but goes beyond his views by arguing that women's experiences
and psychosexual development do not bear out this kind of
individualistic assumption.

In other essays Scheman argues that the philosophical
“we”—the subject who has philosophical
problems—is a normative subject, one that bears the
markings of various kinds of privilege. Her examples of normative
subjects are the ideally rational scientist or the citizen of a
liberal state (1993, 7). In this way she shifts her argument away from
the experiences and developmental differences between actual men and
women (or between white people/people of color, or other actual
differences of privilege/marginality) in order to focus on the
connection between privilege and normativity. If one were to take a
Freudian-tinted view that philosophical problems are
“intellectual sublimations of the neuroses of privilege,”
then their resolution would come, à la Wittgenstein, through
changes in our forms of
life.[8]

Lorraine Code is among those who have criticized analytic philosophy
for use of a moral-epistemic individual who is “abstract,
‘generalized,’ and disengaged” and a tradition that
is more concerned with what an ideal agent or knower would do than
with a real one (1995, xi). Code uses the example of an
“S knows that p” epistemology to focus one
of her most widely known critiques. The knowing subject S, in
what Code hyphenates as the “positivist-empiricist”
epistemology, is an individual—a detached, neutral,
interchangeable spectator whose knowledge is most reliable when his or
her sensory observations occur in ideal conditions, not real, everyday
ones. Code argues that “S knows that p”
models of knowledge work only in a prescribed area; indeed, they favor
a narrow kind of scientific knowledge. A more adequate
characterization of knowing must be applicable to a broad range of
examples in the lives of real people. In order to do so, it cannot use
the interchangeable subject, S, but must include subjective
features of S such as the person's identity, interests or
circumstances. For without these features we cannot explain complex,
relational knowing, for example, knowing a person. In addition, an
adequate account of knowledge should uncover ways in which political
interests are used to determine who is allowed to be a standard
knower, that is, an S (Code 1991, 1995, 1998). This is only
one of Code's early lines of argument against analytic philosophy.
In Section 7 we will discuss arguments that point to the limitations
of naturalized epistemology in the analytic style as well.

As we close our discussion of some of the important classic feminist
critiques of analytic philosophy, recall that another criticism was
discussed in Section 4: Janice Moulton's critique of the adversary
method as a paradigm of philosophy. Although use of the adversary
method need not be limited to analytic philosophers, Moulton's
critique was developed during a period in which aggressively argued
analytic philosophy dominated Anglo-American philosophical discourse.
Her critique is clearly applicable to widespread practices in analytic
philosophy.

The most frequent kinds of responses by analytic feminists to
feminist critiques of analytic philosophy are variations of the
following arguments and claims:

Feminist critiques may have been legitimate for some kinds of
analytic philosophy, especially logical positivism, but because
analytic philosophy has changed, the objections do not hold for most
contemporary work. The analytic feminist then develops a strand of
analytic philosophy that is not subject to a particular kind of
objection, for example, that knowers are unlocated.

There were errors of interpretation in feminists' critiques, for
example, concerning the extent to which analytic philosophy
incorporated empiricism. After correction, analytic philosophy will
not be vulnerable to this particular kind of criticism.

Critics have gone too far in undermining fields of philosophy such
as metaphysics and central concepts such as rationality. Such fields
and concepts are needed both on philosophical and feminist
grounds.

All three kinds of responses allow analytic feminists to engage in
activities on which they thrive—disentangling strands of
argument from each other, making distinctions among concepts,
searching for kernels of truth among points with which they disagree,
and so on.

Response (1). Regardless of the precise characterization of
contemporary analytic philosophy, it clearly cannot to be equated with
logical positivism. So to the degree that feminist critiques focus on
logical positivism rather than current analytic work, they will likely
be off the mark. As analytic feminists respond to other feminists'
critiques, they try to decipher which strands of analytic philosophy
might be most useful and the degree to which old assumptions and
concepts that are male-biased still linger. Although some feminists
have defended facets of the work of Neurath (Okrulik 2004) and Carnap
(Yap 2010) as useful for feminism, most analytic feminists find
resources in philosophers who themselves reject central dogmas and
methods of classical analytic philosophy, e.g.,
Wittgenstein,
J.L. Austin,
Quine,
Davidson,
and others.

Let's take as examples of argument (1) feminists who believe that
useful strands of analytic philosophy will be naturalized in
some way. We need to cast a wide, permissive net here for what counts
as “naturalized” and to acknowledge some controversies
over its relation to analytic philosophy and to feminism. As used
here, ‘naturalized philosophy’ includes philosophy that is
explicitly informed by, rather than replaced by, empirical
information about knowers, agents, and social structures from
psychology/cognitive science, sociology, anthropology, and elsewhere.
Although most analytic feminists favor “naturalizing”
philosophy (with a strong preference for its subcategory of social
epistemology (see
Feminist Social Epistemology),
they are critical of many nonfeminist ways of doing
it.[9]
For example,
the focus in traditional naturalized epistemology on
“individual” rather than “social” sciences
neglects the “situatedness” of our thinking.
A final caveat here: since there is disagreement over the proper
scope of both ‘naturalized’ and ‘analytic’,
some will object that naturalized philosophy is not a
“strand” of analytic philosophy at all. For example,
Quine, who might be considered the father of naturalized epistemology,
fits squarely into our characterization of analytic philosophy;
however, Lynn Hankinson Nelson considers him post-analytic (2003).
And, of course, there is no necessary link between naturalized
philosophy and analytic philosophy in any case; one need only think of
Foucault or Dewey to sever that connection.

Keeping in mind all these caveats and controversies, let's turn to
the example of naturalized epistemology to consider what
“naturalizing” can do to help feminists overcome
difficulties with analytic philosophy. Feminists criticize analytic
philosophy for its concepts of a knower (and an agent), for example,
that it is an individual who is abstract, idealized,
interchangeable, unlocated, disconnected, disembodied, disinterested,
etc. The first thing that naturalized epistemology can do is to shift
the focus from the abstract or idealized knower to the concrete facets
of the person who has beliefs and knowledge. Although this move is not
in itself feminist, Jane Duran finds it a positive step toward what
she calls “gynocentric,” i.e., woman-centered,
epistemology. She believes that naturalized epistemology—by its
descriptive character and its concern with the context and details of
knowing—is capable of including features valued by feminist
standpoint epistemology, for example, the relational aspects of
knowing and the grounding that knowledge has in the body and in
activities of daily life (1991, 112, 246). Duran is one of the first
feminists who explicitly combined feminist standpoint theory with
analytically oriented naturalized epistemology, and is an exception to
the widespread tendency of analytic feminists to stay clear of
gynocentrism.

Of course, one need not agree with the specifics of Duran's analysis
to appreciate the importance of naturalized epistemology's descriptive
attention to context and concrete details: this descriptive
attention allows gender into epistemology as facets
of the knower and the context become relevant. One can then debate
what kinds of social structures, individual variations, and their
interactions are fruitful avenues of exploration.

A second naturalized approach is Louise Antony's argument concerning
a different aspect of the knower—neutrality. Antony maintains
that naturalized epistemology resolves the “paradox of
bias” (how one can consistently critique male bias and at the
same time object to the notion of unbiased, neutral, objective, or
impartial knowledge). Naturalized epistemology rejects the ideal of
neutrality and instead gives us empirical norms by which to
differentiate good from bad biases, that is, biases that lead us
toward rather than away from truth
(1993/2002, 113–116,
134–144).[10]
Antony also engages in many other facets of the debate between
analytic and non-analytic feminists to which we will return later.

A third strategy, still within the context of a naturalized
epistemology/philosophy of science, is to change the relationship
between empiricism and the individual. Lynn Hankinson Nelson and Helen
Longino are empiricists not in the style of Locke or Hume, but in
their positions that evidence comes from the senses, from
experience (Nelson 1990, 21; Longino 1990, 215). This is encapsulated
by saying that empiricism is a theory of evidence. Using different
lines of argument, they both shift the focus from the individual to
communities. Nelson argues that communities rather than individuals
“‘acquire’ and possess knowledge” (Nelson
1990, 14). She wants to use the resources of Quine as well as
feminists to forge an empiricism sufficiently rich and sophisticated
to overcome critiques of earlier feminist empiricism offered, for
example, by Sandra Harding and to avoid feminist objections to
individualism (whether to Jaggar's “abstract
individualism” or the other forms discussed above). Nelson
maintains that Quine—while remaining an empiricist—had
already undermined or abandoned many of the postpositivist
characteristics to which Jaggar and Harding object. Thus empiricism,
tempered by Nelson's focus on communities as knowers, can adequately
take into account the social identities of knowers and the complex
dependencies of individuals on epistemological communities.

Helen Longino's approach in Science as Social Knowledge
(1990) is to argue that among the many ways in which science is social
is that epistemological norms apply to practices of
communities, not just to individuals. In The Fate of
Knowledge (2002), she further develops her contextual empiricist
argument along lines that break down the dichotomy between the
rational and the social (and many other dichotomies along the
way). Although her argument has a wide scope, we are now concerned
only with the ways in which her view breaks the connection between
individualism and empiricism. Longino distinguishes between
individualism as a philosophical position (that, among other things,
tends to consider knowers interchangeable) and whether individuals, in
fact, have knowledge (2002, 14–48). She does not deny that
epistemic norms apply to the practices of individuals or that Einstein
had an “extraordinary intellect, but what made [Einstein's]
brilliant ideas knowledge were the processes of critical
reception” (2002, 122). Knowledge requires social interaction,
not a dichotomy between the rational and the social; it also
integrates values—some of them social—at both the
constitutive and contextual levels.

The responses of Longino, Nelson, Antony, and Duran to feminist
critiques of earlier stages of analytic philosophy all illustrate
variations on theme (1): they agree with certain facets of the
feminist critique, but draw on resources within particular strands of
analytic philosophy (in their cases naturalized
epistemology/philosophy of science) as well as other feminist
resources to produce epistemologies that overcome the objections to
analytic epistemology. Their strategies vary: Longino and Nelson
de-emphasize the individual in favor of communities; Antony and Duran
keep the focus on individuals, but make them more concrete; in
addition, Antony tries to resolve the paradox of bias.

Let us turn much more briefly to strategies (2) and (3). The claim in
(2) is that there were errors of interpretation in the feminist
analyses of analytic philosophy and its antecedents that weaken the
feminist critiques. In (3) it is that critics have gone too far in
undermining fields of philosophy such as metaphysics or central
notions such as rationality that we need to retain. Examples of both
approaches (sometimes even in one paper) can be found in Louise Antony
and Charlotte Witt's A Mind of One's Own, a collection of
papers that focused on reason and objectivity in both the history of
Western philosophy and various fields of contemporary philosophy
(1993/2002). Those who propound claim (2) include Margaret Atherton
and Louise Antony. Atherton criticizes both Genevieve Lloyd (1984)
and Susan Bordo (1987) for their interpretations of Descartes
(1993/2002). Although Atherton's piece is purely historical, it is
relevant to our discussion here because feminists of all persuasions
who debate the merit of analytic philosophy acknowledge historical
analyses, especially Lloyd's extensive work on “the man of
reason.” Louise Antony argues that Alison Jaggar (1983) and Jane
Flax (1987) mischaracterize the rationalist or empiricist traditions,
and so miss the extent to which analytic philosophers have already
rejected aspects of them. This leads feminists to misidentify analytic
epistemology with empiricism and overlook more rationalistic
possibilities (Antony 1993/2002).

Finally, strategy (3). When analytic feminists defend a field or a
concept from critiques of other feminists who have “gone too
far,” they might be fending off postmodern critics who do not
want to do traditional metaphysics at all or they might be arguing
about which aspects of the field are male-biased (for example,
foundationalist styles of metaphysics or the tendency to see selected
categories as natural). Both Charlotte Witt and Sally Haslanger argue
that there is no specifically feminist reason for rejecting
metaphysics in general. Witt considers the particular case of
“what it is to be human.” She argues that feminists, in
fact, need assumptions and theories about what it is to be human even
in order to criticize traditional metaphysical theories (1993/2002).
Haslanger discusses a range of issues concerning social construction,
realism, and natural and social kinds. In the course of her discussion
of feminists such as Catharine MacKinnon and Judith Butler, Haslanger
makes many distinctions among kinds and functions of social
constructions, sorts out ways in which metaphysics and politics are
related, and, in general, provides an example of feminist metaphysical
debate that distinguishes male-biased facets of metaphysics from
facets useful for feminists (1995b, 1996, 2000, 2005). One way of
characterizing this approach is that it goes for the “kernels of
truth” within larger, more problematic (or at least more
polemical) discussions, and thereby performs a service for readers who
might be sympathetic with some aspects of the views of MacKinnon or
Butler, but who are not willing to accept the body of work that
encompasses them. We return to feminist metaphysics in Section 8.

A more controversial analytic feminist response that fits into (3) is
Martha Nussbaum's defense of concepts and standards of objectivity
and reason. In the context of a laudatory review of the first edition
of Antony and Witt's A Mind of One's Own, Nussbaum argues
forcefully that it is in feminists' interests, both theoretically and
practically, to retain fairly traditional ideals of objectivity and
rationality while acknowledging their abusive use. This position, in
itself, would not have generated great controversy, even if not
universally accepted. However, because Nussbaum sees certain critics
of the male-biased aspects of objectivity and reason as part of a
“feminist assault on reason” (1994, 59), her essay and her
interpretation of other feminists' views generated wide and heated
discussion among feminist
philosophers.[11]

As we close the discussion of analytic feminists' responses to
critiques of analytic philosophy, it is important to restate the
obvious: not every analytic feminist would agree with the responses
articulated in the few examples chosen here. Indeed, in spite of the
desire that analytic feminist philosophy be sufficiently normative,
there is ongoing disagreement over issues such as the attitude to take
toward concepts that have typically embodied that
normativity. Consider traditional ideals of objectivity: views range
from the claim that although the ideals of rationality and objectivity
are “both unattainable and undesirable,” we nevertheless
ought to embrace them as “regulative norms” or
“heuristics” (Antony 1995, 87) to a number of different
understandings of objectivity that would make them not so subject to
distortion or misuse (for example, E. Lloyd 1995a, 1995b, Haslanger
1993/2002, Scheman 2001a, Heldke 2001, Janack 2002).

Finally, we need to remember that what a feminist expects of a
philosophical method—her own preferred method(s) or
others—will influence her critique of
it.[12]
It is important to be realistic in considering what any particular
method might offer a feminist. For example, an analytic method is
likely to provide a feminist with much more assistance in clarifying
concepts, making distinctions, and evaluating arguments than with
creating her “vision” or defining the goals of her work
(see Garry 1995).

As noted previously, traditional analytic philosophy seemed to many to
be the least hospitable philosophical method to feminists. Although
analytic feminists have clearly increased the method's hospitality, we
need to consider limitations and challenges that remain.

The strengths and limitations of various kinds of feminist
philosophies can grow from the same sources—if a feminist is
close to a mainstream tradition, she is subject to at least some of
its limitations although she stands a better chance of influencing it
and “building bridges” than does someone who critiques the
tradition more deeply. In a 1979 conference talk Audre Lorde pointed
to one risk quite powerfully by saying, “The master's tools will
never dismantle the master's house” (Lorde 1984, 112). Although
over the decades Lorde's claim sent chills down the spines of academic
feminists across the disciplines, the very existence of feminist
philosophy requires that the “tools” of the philosophical
trade are not solely the property of the “master.”
Feminist philosophers, analytic or not, build on the work not only of
other feminists, but also of some traditional
philosopher sometime. Because of the need to utilize as well
as modify traditional philosophy, a feminist must always be alert for
deeper levels of male bias that may become apparent as she continues
her work. Some of the possibilities particularly relevant to analytic
feminists are below.

Naomi Scheman and Linda Alcoff, for example, point out ways in which
analytic feminists may not fully appreciate all the political,
metaphysical and epistemological “baggage” that has
already been packed into their theories and concepts. Scheman thinks
that Martha Nussbaum stops listening too soon to attacks on
rationality and fails to appreciate that openness to reasonable
argument (advocated by Nussbaum) implies that we recognize when our
own conception of reasonableness is being questioned (Scheman
2001b). Alcoff, maintaining that we need some concept of
reason, makes a similar argument against Nussbaum and points out the
dogmatic character of claiming that some particular concept
of reason is the concept that cannot be given up (Alcoff
1995).

Closely related is another possible objection, namely, that it may not
be as easy to detach one's method from one's politics as one might
think. Because analytic feminists have been sometimes rightly
associated with liberalism (for example, Nussbaum 2000a and Cudd 2006)
other analytic feminists take pains to separate their method from
their politics. Louise Antony argues that her own socialist politics
are compatible with an analytic method (2003). At a certain level, of
course, she is right. But if an analytic feminist is articulating a
socialist feminism, rather than an inclination toward some
kind of socialism or other, then the facets of her position derived
ultimately from Marx, from Quine, and from feminism need to be
hammered out carefully in order to settle down together
well.

Clusters of separate objections focus around subjectivity and
standpoints. Traditional analytic philosophy has been rightly
criticized for its inability to handle subjectivity. In thinking
about whether this criticism applies to analytic feminists as well,
let's consider it in the context of knowledge. Elizabeth Anderson
calls the position that knowledge is “situated” the
fundamental point of feminist epistemology
(see Feminist Epistemology and Philosophy of Science).
Can “situated” knowledge as developed by analytic feminists
capture both the individual subjectivity of human beings and the ways
in which material conditions and complex social institutions structure
the standpoints of women and others in marginalized groups? There are
obviously two separate questions here—asked together because
they focus on whether analytic feminism has the resources to capture
what is very important to other feminist methodological traditions:
standpoint theory and postmodernism.

Consider Helen Longino as an example: she is dealing with situated
knowledge in the context of the sciences. Her contextual empiricism
and, more recently, her argument to dissolve completely the
rational/social dichotomy and the dichotomies that underlie it allow
her to delve into the right areas. Of course, science is not all of
life or knowledge, so her argument would need to be extended into
areas of everyday life that Lorraine Code, among others, has
discussed. Whatever the limitations of contextual empiricism, it is
better at analyzing the structural and material features that
construct subjectivity than it is at illuminating individual
subjectivity. It is in the latter area that postmodern and
psychoanalytic approaches flourish (see, for example, Butler 1990,
Butler and Salih 2003, Irigaray 1991, Irigaray and Whitford 1993,
Kristeva and Oliver 2002). Their focus on the opaque, fragmented, or
unfinished character of human subjectivity may be a bit untidy for
many analytic feminists. But given the importance of this topic for
feminist philosophy, there is a need for fruitful dialogue about
it.

Feminist standpoint theory, drawing originally from Marxist theory,
raised a cluster of questions for analytic feminists: whether they can
explain the political/material construction of standpoints in the
production of knowledge, how they treat community-wide biases and
assumptions, what criteria they use to distinguish “good”
and “bad” biases, and so on. Sandra Harding advocates a
pluralistic form of standpoint theory that focuses on the importance
of starting research from the lives of marginalized people
(1991). Doing so has many advantages, including an increased
likelihood that we will be able to uncover community-wide biases and
assumptions of the privileged as we produce knowledge in a number of
fields. Although initially analytic feminist empiricists and
standpoint theorists saw each other as embodying rival traditions and
were often critical of each other, there has recently has been
significant interest among analytic feminist empiricists in looking at
the resources offered by standpoint theory as well as common themes or
consensus in the two kinds of approaches (see, for example, Wylie
2004, Potter 2006, Crasnow 2008, Intemann 2010, a
2009 Hypatia symposium (Crasnow, Harding, Rouse, Kourany,
Rolin, and Solomon, all 2009), and Anderson 2011).
At this time, there is no consensus, simply an exploration that
embodies a
range of possibilities: incorporating the insights of standpoint
theory into empirical (and empiricist) work (Wylie 2004), or
maintaining that in a number of their forms they are compatible
(Anderson 2011), or arguing that feminist empiricism and standpoint
theory have significant overlaps but that their remaining differences
show that they need each other (Intemann 2010). A fuller discussion of these issues can be found in Intemann (2010) and Anderson (2011).

Related objections arise concerning naturalized epistemology. As
mentioned
above,
feminist social epistemology
is the most typical form of naturalized feminist epistemology today.
Social
epistemologists have deep critiques of individually oriented and
“scientistic” analytic naturalized epistemology. In
addition to feminists already discussed above, Phyllis Rooney and
Lorraine Code have both argued that there is tension between typical
naturalized epistemology and feminist epistemology; Rooney calls it an
“uneasy alliance” (Rooney 2003). Code offers an ecological
model that she maintains is preferable to analytically and
individualistically oriented naturalism (1996, 2006). Rooney appeals
to psychological studies of gender and cognition to provide evidence
for her critique of assumptions of empirical studies (and of the
epistemology that structures and then uses the empirical results). For
example, Rooney wants to critique the assumption of the stability of
the individual/social distinction, the stability of gender—or
even that gender is either stable or situational, for there might be
more choices (Rooney 2003). Although analytic feminist naturalized
epistemologists might well agree with much of Rooney's critique,
Code's 2006 ecological model would be a nearly impossible stretch. In
any case, analytic feminists must be very careful as they choose their
own models to reflect upon the kinds of assumptions to which they
acquiesce, whether those just mentioned or others that might go under
the label “scientism.”

The final cluster of challenges concerns language, images, and
“rhetorical space.” These challenges are meant to call
attention to other kinds of “baggage” of which analytic
feminists need to be aware. Although both feminist and nonfeminist
analytic philosophers are thought to favor literal uses of language,
they also rely on metaphors, analogies, images and the like in the
course of making their philosophical cases (think of the frequency of
Neurath's ship via Quine). Analytic feminists need to give attention
to the assumptions and implications of their literal uses of
language, their images and how they relate to what Lorraine Code calls
the “rhetorical spaces” in which they function (or, in
other cases, fail to function). In using ‘rhetorical
spaces’ Code is thinking of the ways in which our discourses are
structured to limit what can count as meaningful, be taken seriously,
yield insight, expect uptake, and so on (1995, ix–x; with
continued discussion in Code 2006).

Marguerite La Caze, using methodology developed by Michele LeDoeuff,
argues that feminists as well as nonfeminist analytic philosophers use
images, for example, mythical social contracts in political philosophy
and visual and spatial metaphors in knowledge, that can unwittingly
perpetuate images that exclude women (La Caze 2002, LeDoeuff 1989; see
also Gatens 1991). Analytic feminists are being called upon to widen
the rhetorical spaces in analytic philosophy as well as to recognize
and scrutinize the images that they, in fact, use in the course of
their allegedly literal speech.

Most analytic feminists welcome challenges to their positions from
other feminists. For, after all, there is no easier way to be kept
honest and to recognize one's own collusion with male-biased
philosophy than to have one's feminist colleagues point it out. It is
part of any reasonable feminism to want to remain open to the ongoing
possibility of collusion and self-deception. Candid, fair-minded
conversation benefits all forms of feminism.

Obviously, it has not been possible to discuss the entire range of
analytic feminism. Many of the examples in previous sections came from
epistemology or philosophy of science, and a few from metaphysics. In
this section, we will touch very briefly on some of the omissions:
other areas of philosophy such as moral, social and political
philosophy, and history of philosophy as well as a few
“core” analytic fields not yet given their due.

Our focus so far has steered away from fields traditionally
acknowledged to concern “values” not simply because of the
usual constraints of time and energy, but for two other reasons as
well: first, fields such as epistemology are often deemed to be at the
core of analytic philosophy, and second, feminist controversies in
epistemology or metaphysics often divide along methodological lines in
a way that they do not divide so cleanly in ethics, social/political
philosophy, or history of philosophy. Although feminist philosophers
in the latter areas still have differences in philosophical training,
in writing styles, and in preferences for contemporary male figures
with whom to converse, the “sides” in major controversies
rarely fall neatly into divisions among analytic and non-analytic
feminists. For example, early typical feminist controversies in moral
theory have concerned whether one should favor an ethics of justice
over an ethics of care or a virtue ethics, or whether one should
prefer Kant over Hume or Aristotle as a starting point for moral
thinking (see, for example, Herman 1993, Baier 1994, Held 1993, Homiak
1993, Larrabee 1993). Interestingly, the degree to which moral
philosophers (analytic or not) rely upon and integrate historical
figures into their work seems to be greater than among analytic
philosophers doing epistemology and metaphysics.

Similarly, among feminists writing in social and political philosophy
the focus is more often on whether one is liberal, socialist, radical,
or postmodern than the degree to which one is analytic. For
example, Martha Nussbaum defends her liberal
“capabilities” approach against anti-liberal opponents
(2000a, 2000b). Marilyn Friedman may choose to write about autonomy in
a certain fashion because she works within a liberal tradition in
political and moral philosophy (2003). Although both are rightly
considered analytic feminists, this is not usually a salient facet of
what interests philosophers about their work. Lisa Schwartzman's
feminist critique (but not rejection) of liberalism is in conversation
with many analytically inclined philosophers but others as well
(2006). On the other hand, Ann Cudd, in Analyzing
Oppression, explicitly situates her work in and defends both the
analytic and liberal traditions (2006, ix).

At other times it is more important in moral and political philosophy
to be writing as both a lesbian and a feminist than to be analytic or
not. For example, what is most distinctive about Cheshire Calhoun's
Feminism, The Family, and the Politics of the Closet is her
exploration of the structure of gay and lesbian subordination and its
relation to feminism (2000). Of course, Marilyn Frye and Claudia Card
have provided decades of examples of thinking outside any number of
“boxes”—analytic or otherwise (see, for example,
Frye 1983, 1992, 2011; Card 1995, 1996, 2002).

What might underlie some of the differences just noted are the various
roles that normativity plays in moral, social and political philosophy
on the one hand and in metaphysics and epistemology on the other.
Recall in Section 4 the discussion of analytic feminists' “core
desire” for normativity; what this normativity amounts to in
their discussions of metaphysics and epistemology is that concepts and
arguments carry enough “weight” to justify their positions
for philosophical and feminist purposes. In moral, social and
political philosophy normativity is much more pervasive. Except for
the some “meta-issues,” the very subject matter and sets
of concepts in moral and political
philosophy arethemselvesnormative: What
moral theory should one adopt? What position on justice? What analysis
of rape?

Regardless of the points just noted, many feminists writing on topics
in moral, social and political philosophy, both theoretical and
practical, could well identify themselves as analytic feminists (and
sometimes do). On topics such as sexual harassment, abortion, or
pornography there would be little in common among analytic feminists
other than writing style and a tendency to make many distinctions and
cite from a range of analytic figures. Of course, these are factors
they would share with analytic feminists in other fields of
philosophy. One does not want to overemphasize the contrast drawn here
between moral/political philosophy and
metaphysics/epistemology—it is a difference of degree.
See, for example, Anita Superson on sexual harassment (1993) and
Elizabeth Anderson and Ann Cudd on feminism and rational choice theory
(2002). See also Rae Langton's work on pornography
(1993; 2009;
Hornsby and Langton 1998; West and Langton 1999), which draws on
J.L. Austin (1962) and Catharine MacKinnon (1987) .

In the heyday of analytic philosophy, it was thought appropriate in
some Anglo-American philosophy departments to write about historical
figures as if they were disembodied voices entering into
contemporary debates in analytic philosophy. Given that this
tendency has receded and that feminists tend not to favor the use of
disembodied voices in any case, feminist historians of philosophy
tend not to identify their historical work as analytic. It is
controversial enough to identify it as feminist! The series
Re-Reading the Canon, edited by Nancy Tuana, provides more
than thirty volumes of feminist
interpretation of major
figures.[13]
Of course, feminist philosophers who write on historical figures
often draw on them to treat contemporary topics as well. In this
latter work, it is appropriate to think of them as analytic; for
example, Martha Nussbaum or Charlotte Witt might turn to Aristotle
for ideas in the course of analytic feminist work on
anti-essentialism (Nussbaum 1995) and
metaphysics (Witt 1993/2002, 2011a).

Analytic feminist work in philosophy of language is not as extensive
as discussions of language are among French feminists or in other
disciplines. Nor has it
yet been developed to the extent that analytic feminist epistemology
or philosophy of science have (although, of course, it intersects
with work in metaphysics, philosophy of mind, epistemology, and
philosophical method). After articles in early anthologies
(Vetterling-Braggin et al. 1977, 1981), analytic work
seemed to taper off. For example, the Hypatia special issue
on Philosophy and Language (Bauer and Oliver 1992) contained only one
article on an analytic philosopher, Frege, and it was very critical
(Nye 1992). An analytic feminist special issue of Philosophical
Topics (Haslanger 1995a) contained two philosophy of language
essays (Mercier 1995, Hornsby 1995). Other work during this period
includes, for example, Hintikka and Hintikka (1983),
Tanesini (1994), Nye (1998), Hornsby (2000), and Clough (2003).
In addition, feminists also find resources in analytic philosophers
of language for their own projects. The most prominent example, also
noted above, is Langton and her colleagues' and critics' work on
pornography (and by implication, rape) that relies on Austin's
philosophy of language. See Saul (2010; especially note 4) for an
outline of this literature as well as a more detailed account
of the broader field. Some of the more recent analytic philosophy
of language essays have focused on the methodological implications of
considering politically significant terms in philosophy of language
(Saul 2012) and further development of the ways language obscures
ideology (Haslanger 2011). Given that philosophy of language is also
closely related to metaphysics, the discussion continues below.

Feminist metaphysicians tackle all major areas of metaphysics, divided
by Haslanger into a study of what is real, of basic concepts used in
understanding ourselves and the world, and of presuppositions of
inquiry (2000, 108). Analytic feminist metaphysicians have moved
beyond defending metaphysics against what they considered feminists'
misunderstanding or underappreciation of it and currently just go
about their work (see, for example, essays in Witt 2011b). Although we
have briefly discussed metaphysical examples in earlier sections, one
theme in analytic feminist metaphysics that is tied to philosophy of
language and to philosophical method bears special mention: the
analysis of the category or concept woman (and sex and gender). This
flourishing literature provides excellent examples of the ways that
real life politics and values interact with central philosophical
issues of meaning, ontology, and method. To cite just a few examples:
Marilyn Frye's work on the nature of social categories, metaphors, and
species (2005, 2011), many responses to Spelman's 1988
Inessential Woman, Haslanger's treatment of social
constructions, semantics, and types of analyses (e.g., in 2000, 2005, 2012)
that has generated other work by those already discussing women, sex
and gender, for example, Natalie Stoljar (2011) and Mari Mikkola
(2009, 2011). (See also the entries in this
encyclopedia on
Feminist Metaphysics
and
Feminist Perspectives on Sex and Gender.)

A collection of essays, Representing Reason: Feminist Theory and
Formal Logic (Falmagne and Hass 2002), brings together feminist
philosophers with various methodological preferences as well as two
psychologists. Several papers take off from the only sustained
feminist reading of the history of logic, Andrea Nye's Words
of Power (1990). A number of the authors in this collection,
regardless of their methodological background, tend to try to salvage
what they consider important from formal logic and to reframe their
own favorite logical “kernels of truth” in ways that can
be useful for feminists—or at a minimum avoid feminist
objections. This approach has also been used by Audrey Yap in the
course of her defense of Carnap's principle of tolerance (2010). There
has also been recent work on informal logic that reflects analytic
feminists' sensibilities; see, for example, essays in Rooney and
Hundleby (2010).

As someone cited by both analytic philosophers and postmodernists,
Wittgenstein embodies the intersection of their interests, or at least
that possibility. The authors in Naomi Scheman and Peg O'Connor's
Feminist Interpretations of Ludwig Wittgenstein (2002)
explore and employ aspects of Wittgenstein's work that range from
engendering the Tractatus to applying his Remarks on
Colour to racism—though many essays center around remarks
in his later work in epistemology and philosophy of language. Although
Wittgenstein would surely not have imagined his work to be fruitful
for feminists, the editors and authors find it very rich. For example,
Scheman considers it important for feminists to acknowledge that
Wittgenstein provides a way out of debates about objectivist
epistemologies and realist metaphysics by reminding us that both sides
are still held captive by the picture that “only something that
transcended our practices could make notions such as truth and reality
genuinely, fully, robustly meaningful” (Scheman and O'Connor
2002, 17). See also Alessandra Tanesini's feminist interpretation of Wittgenstein (2004) and other Wittgenstein-influenced works such as Heyes
(2000, 2003), O'Connor (2002, 2011), Frye (2005, 2011), Scheman
(2011) and Garry (2012).

Although methodology is the focus in this essay, it is nevertheless
important to ask whether there is value in identifying one's feminist
philosophy by method. In some respects, there is. Recall the point
with which this essay began: by originally naming themselves
‘analytic feminists’ these philosophers declared that
feminism need not be postmodern and that analytic philosophy is not
irredeemably male-biased. Beyond this, there is a mixture of
advantages and disadvantages to identifying oneself by method. It may
help to make apparent a feminist philosopher's assumptions and
probable toolbox if she identifies her feminism as analytic (or
postmodern or pragmatist). At the same time, we need to keep in mind
that every feminist discourse undermines its “paternal”
method to some degree (see Harding 1991). Thus even if a feminist
identifies herself as analytic, she still takes pains to differentiate
her views in some respects from her “paternal”
discourse. Indeed, part of the meaning of a feminist's claiming a
discourse is to say, “It is this discourse against which I
struggle.” Such a claim can enable her audience to understand
her views better. However, her use of ‘analytic’ might
also unnecessarily limit her appeal—particularly if she is
trying to communicate in interdisciplinary or international feminist
contexts.

There can also be rhetorical advantages for feminists to claim their
analytic heritage, especially in locations in which analytic
philosophy remains
“dominant.”[14]
A feminist who is willing to claim an analytic tradition might be able
to more meaningfully critique it in certain ways—after all she
has given it her best effort. At the very least, her critiques,
revisions, and insights might seem more acceptable to nonfeminist
analytic philosophers because she is “one of their
own.”[15]

It is a disadvantage to call oneself an analytic feminist if, by doing
so, one were to encourage others to subsume feminism under a
patrilineal identity. In the context of discussing the importance of
constructing a feminist genealogy of feminist thought by claiming and
engaging with other feminist thinkers, Marilyn Frye notes ironically
how much “better placed in history” it seems to be when
one is seen “in that august Oxbridge lineage [of Austin and
Wittgenstein, rather] than in a lineage featuring dozens of
mimeographed feminist pamphlets authored by collectives, … Kate
Millett, Mary Daly, Andrea Dworkin, …[feminist philosophers
such as] Claudia Card, Naomi Scheman, Maria Lugones, Sarah Hoagland,
and troubadours like Alix Dobkin and Willie Tyson” (Frye 2001,
86–87). In order to resist the comfort/erasure of the
patrilineal heritage, analytic feminists need to do as Frye says: to
claim and engage other feminist thinkers. Many, including Frye,
already do so. This will not only help to sustain a feminist
tradition, it will also increase the richness of feminist work and
decrease the odds of feminists being held captive by male-biased
philosophical methods, theories, concepts and images.

Bailey, Alison, 2010, “On Intersectionality and the
Whiteness of Feminist Philosophy”, The Center Must Not Hold:
White Women on the Whiteness of Philosophy, George Yancy
(ed.). Totowa, NJ: Rowman and Littlefield.

Bauer, Dale and Kelly Oliver (eds.), 1992, Hypatia: A
Journal of Feminist Philosophy, Special Issue on Philosophy and
Language 7(2).

Beebee, Helen, 2014, “Women and Deviance in
Philosophy”, Women in Philosophy: What Needs to
Change?, Katrina Hutchison and Fiona Jenkins (eds.), New York:
Oxford University Press.